


a matter of family

by nellywrites



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternative Universe - No Island, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Meet the Family, Wedding Planning, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 07:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11353137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellywrites/pseuds/nellywrites
Summary: Sara and Rip are getting married. As a wedding gift to her fiance, Sara decides to track down his estranged father. It might be worst idea she's ever had. Or not. Jury's still out. Written for dccwrarepairswap.





	a matter of family

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plinys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/gifts).



> This is contribution to the DC CW Rarepair Swap on tumblr, and also my first official contribution to this particular fandom. This is my response to a prompt from [plinys](http://plinys.tumblr.com/) which called for Rip/Sara. Meet the parents. Bonus points for Booster Gold. And the following TFLN for inspiration: (306): Just a little. Like do I say "hey I'm the girl that's fucking your son, nice to meet you" . This prompt screamed crack fic shenanigans and I tried for a second, but comedy isn't my strong writing suit. I hope you enjoy it all the same.

**i.**

The smell of something delicious wafted from the vicinity of the kitchen, something between citrusy and floral. Sara couldn’t quite pinpoint it. It was distracting, that much she knew. The sweet smell hit the back of her throat and her mouth watered. She shook her head and went back to the task at hand. Her pointer finger marked her spot on the page as she went through the names on her wedding guest list, crossing each one out after she’d confirmed she had their invitation ready.

 

A porcelain plate with a single slice of cake on it appeared in her line of vision and then landed in the midst of all her papers.

 

“Darling, please taste this.”

 

“Careful,” she said, maneuvering the plate away from the stack of pristine, cream colored envelopes, all addressed and ready to be sent off. “I swear to God, Rip, if you ruin these invitations with your cream butter concoctions, my sister will kill you and I’m not gonna stop her.”

 

“You mean buttercream. Creamed butter is a different thing. Or, actually, I suppose it isn’t. Anyhow, taste it,” Rip insisted.

 

“Okay, okay.”

 

Sara brought the fork to her mouth and savored the spongy texture of the cake. The icing had the perfect balance between fluffy and creamy, not greasy at all. The bright burst of lemon hit her taste buds first, and then something earthy and herby she couldn’t identify. She moaned around the bite of cake.

 

“Oh my god, what is this slice of heaven?”

  
“That is my new recipe for lemon sponge cake with lemon and lavender buttercream.”

 

He had that smug expression on his face that Sara loved so much because he’d adopted it from her.

 

“I don’t actually care what it is. All I know it’s delicious. This, _this_ is the one,” she said around another mouthful of cake.

 

She’d expected Rip to light up with satisfaction, like he did every time she paid his cooking a compliment, but instead he just looked exasperated.

 

“What?”

 

“You said that about the last five cakes I gave you to taste.”

 

Rip snatched the plate up before Sara had a chance to finish off the slice and walked back to the kitchen, Sara on his tail, still chasing after the cake.

 

“Well, in my defense, they were all good,” she said after taking the plate back.

 

“Sara, that’s not very helpful. We really need to settle on one.”

 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be so good at baking then.”

 

The stress had started to become apparent in Rip’s body language and she knew he was seconds away from rolling his eyes at her and calling her hopeless.

 

“Or here’s an idea, how about we get a baker, like every other couple getting married. Better yet, what if we don't even have a wedding? We could cancel everything right now and elope. What do you say we get on my bike and ride off into the sunset all the way to Vegas?”

 

He pretended to consider it for a second.

 

“Tempting, but if we cancel the wedding your sister will kill us both.”

 

“Yeah,” Sara sighed.

 

Laurel had appointed herself as the wedding planner the moment Sara told her she and Rip were getting married. The pair would have been content with something quick and efficient, like driving down to the courthouse, but the murderous look on Laurel’s face had dissuaded them of that idea quickly.

 

“Speaking of my sister… I gotta go. I have to stop by the post office and get those invitations mailed out and then I’m meeting Laurel for lunch. She’s still trying to convince me to wear white.”

 

They looked at each other for a second before they both burst out in laughter.

 

“I told her I’d wear white if I could wear pants. She said challenge accepted.”

 

Rip leaned back against the kitchen counter and Sara stepped into his personal space, his hands automatically going to her hips. He had a dusting of flour across his forehead that immediately made Sara smile. Who knew impending nuptials could turn even a stoic like Sara into a sap? She certainly didn’t.

 

“Are you going into the office today?”

 

“Yes. I have to go into the lab for a few hours.”

 

“All right. I’m going to work right after the thing with Laurel, so I guess I’ll see you tonight.” Her voice went higher in pitch at the end, not quite a question, but almost, seeking confirmation.

 

“I’ll wait up,” he answered, in the same way he did every time he saw Sara off to work in the afternoons.

 

She smiled, again, comforted by the routine.

 

When they’d met almost four years earlier, they’d been at their personal lowest, both struggling with severe attachment issues, sinking into depressions and terrible coping habits. It’d been Rip who had finally inspired Sara to get better and seek the help she’d so desperately needed. He’d somehow seen the strong woman that hid beneath the illness and Sara liked to think she’d done the same for him. After their many years of struggles they’d found balance in each other. She was reckless where he was conservative. She was brazen where he was shy. But at their core they were united by the same yearning  for home and belonging. What they’d wanted most was someone to come home to. As far as Sara was concerned, the wedding couldn’t come fast enough.

 

***

 

Sara watched as Laurel walked through the doors of The Grind and Jolt cafe, all frazzled, juggling magazines, files and fabric samples, all while trying to communicate her coffee order with her eyebrows. Much to Sara’s amazement, the barista somehow understood her-- a testament to how much Laurel frequented that particular establishment.

 

Laurel plopped down onto the chair across from Sara and her cargo spilled onto the table.

 

“You’re late,” Sara said.

 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I had a last minute meeting. You can’t be too mad at me, though, cause it’s for you.”

 

Sara vacillated between intrigue and apprehension at the thought of what else Laurel could possibly throw at them. She dreaded whatever new Pinterest board Laurel had spent all night curating. Laurel didn’t pull out her iPad, though, and instead fished a plain yellow manila envelope out of the pile of magazines and placed it on the table between them.

 

“Michael Jon Carter,” Laurel said, in the affected smug tone she usually employed in the courtroom when one of her legal gambits paid off.

 

“You found him.”

 

Sara tore into the envelope and pulled out a glossy 8x10 photo. The man in the photograph was younger than she’d expected, or at least he looked young, with golden hair, bright blue eyes and straight white teeth. She had never seen him before, not even in photographs, but Sara immediately identified the places where he looked like Rip, or rather Rip looked like him, particularly around the nose and brow bone. But in other, more present ways ways, he was a complete stranger who didn’t evoke any sense of familiarity. The man in the photo exuded a certain arrogance and confidence which stood in stark contrast to her quiet and timid fiance.

 

Michael Jon Carter was Rip’s estranged father, and she was holding his picture in her hands.

 

“He’s in Central City right now, working in the Star Labs museum,” Laurel said. “We could go visit mom this weekend, take a detour, maybe?”

 

Laurel’s words were white noise. Sara couldn’t take her eyes off the photo in her hands.

 

“Sara?”

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m just-- I don’t know what to do now.”

 

“What do you mean? We go find him, talk to him. That was the plan right?”

 

“Yeah and how am I supposed to go about that exactly? We just drive up to Central City and wait for him outside of Star Labs like two creeps and then I just go up to him and say, Hi I’m the girl who’s fucking your son, nice to meet you?”

 

“Sara! Of course we don’t-- This whole thing was your idea.”

 

The idea had first sparked months ago, when she and Rip sat down to write their wedding invite list. Sara had been going through a depressive period-- she and Rip both cycled through them-- and the meager contributions he’d made to the guest list had made her unbearably sad. What had started as a thought then quickly turned into an obsession. Sara couldn’t let go of the feeling that Rip’s family should be there on his wedding day.  She’d called Laurel, her big sister who always knew what to do. At the time, tracking down Rip’s long lost father  -- the only family Sara knew for a fact existed-- had seemed like the best course of action.

 

“What’s on your mind?” Laurel said.

 

“When Rip and I first started getting serious, and I was in the middle of my recovery, we would get into these epic fights because he would just make these decisions that would affect the both of us without talking to me about it first. Not in a controlling way or anything, you know I would never stand for that and he was just trying to take care of me. But he was so used to being alone, and not having anyone to rely on, he didn’t know how to be a partner. Is that what I’m doing right now?”

 

“I can’t answer that for you, sweetie. But you don’t have to decide anything right now. Think about it, maybe talk to Rip. That information isn’t going anywhere. Luckily for you, I do have plenty of other things you _can_ decide on right now.”

 

***

 

“Honey, I’m home,” Sara yelled from the front door. She toed her work boots off and dropped her work duffel and messenger bag on top of the living room couch next to Rip’s boxes of whatever antiques he’d brought home today.

 

“In here,” said Rip’s disembodied voice. “And keep your voice down, it’s 12:30.”

 

She followed the sound of Rip’s voice to the kitchen table, where he sat still tinkering around with his tiny, delicate tools, face hovering above a magnifying glass. He was still in work clothes, with his sleeves rolled up, which meant he’d been at it for hours, probably since he got home from the office. It was anyone’s guess if he’d even remembered to feed himself.

 

Sara leaned against the kitchen wall and watched him work for a while.

 

“Whatcha working on?”

 

“The Sphere.” He sighed and put his tools down for a moment, and rubbed at his tense shoulders. “I still can’t get the gear to work. What about you. Did you save any lives tonight?”

 

“Actually, I did. A man had a heart attack in the park, while he was jogging. It was touch and go there for a while, but he’s going to be alright.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that.”

 

He still hadn’t even lifted his gaze from his work. That wouldn’t do. She walked toward Rip and stood behind him, draping her body against his back. His beard scratched against her cheek and she nuzzled her face there, angling slightly to kiss his cheek.

 

“You know, I’m still pretty wired from the adrenaline rush. So I think I’m gonna go take a nice hot shower and relax.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

She waited for a second but Rip was still engrossed in his timepieces. Sara rolled her eyes.

 

“That was a hint by the way.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Rip, get in the shower with me and I’ll massage those sore shoulders for you.”

 

“Oh,” he said, dropping his tools. “Yes. Right.”

 

“I can’t believe that after all these years I can still make you blush.”

 

***

 

“You’re dead on your feet,” Sara said, pushing Rip’s wet hair away from his face. “Go to bed, I’ll be right in.”

 

Rip shuffled toward the bedroom and Sara waited until he was tucked in bed before walking to the living room, where she had left her messenger bag with the incriminating manila envelope. She sat on the couch, still in her robe and pondered the envelope for a moment. She took the photograph out again, committing Michael Carter’s face to memory. She stood in front of the mantle where she and Rip kept all their framed photographs and held the photograph in front of her, arms outstretched. If she unfocused her gaze Michael Carter’s photo blended into the rest of the photos. She tried to picture him there, for real, as part of the family. But she couldn’t conjure up the images. So much of Rip’s past was a mystery. There was so much she still didn’t know about him, about the time before he’d baptized himself as Rip Hunter. She’d never minded much. She didn’t need his past, it was his future she was interested in.

 

But Rip’s father, specifically, had always been a more of a sore spot. Sara knew the basics: he hadn’t been around at all when Rip was a child, not even after his mother died and Rip had to go into foster care. They’d met for the first time when Rip was 18 years old, but by then the damage had already been done.

 

And maybe that was for good reason and she had no right to go poking at wounds she didn’t fully understand, no matter how well intentioned she might be. She slipped the photo back into the envelope and tucked the envelope in between two yearbooks. Michael Carter could wait for another day. She had her own family waiting for her in their bedroom.

 

***

The last month of wedding planning went by faster than Rip and Sara would’ve wanted and before they knew it, it was two weeks before the wedding and they still hadn’t managed to decide on the seating arrangements. Hence why they were at Laurel’s apartment on Sara’s night off, shuffling charts and tiny name cards around while Laurel watched them like a hawk from the kitchen.

 

“What if we sat Nyssa next to Ollie?”

 

“Sara, no,” Laurel admonished from the kitchen. “It’s bad enough you invited your ex-girlfriend to your wedding, you don’t have to punish her further by sitting her next to Oliver Queen.”

 

“I was joking. I’d never do that. I like Nyssa.”

 

“Please, get serious about this, it’s not that hard.”

 

“You do it then, I can’t keep track of who’s mad at who or who fucked who and now can’t be near the other. Speaking of, who do we know who’s single? I’m trying to set Jax up with someone.”

 

At her side, Rip sighed in that long-suffering way he had that made him sound 100 years old.

 

“Because _that_ turned out so well last time you tried it. You are not setting up Mr. Jackson with anyone. I’m sure he is more than capable of attracting his own dates. Now, come on, let’s just get through this.”

 

“Fine. Where did you want to put Jonah and Gideon? You know them best.”

 

An hour and two cups of tea later, the seating chart was completed and Laurel rewarded them both with a cupcake. Cupcakes which Rip himself had baked, thank you very much, as he ruefully reminded her.  

 

Sara looked at the chart and honed in on the so called ‘family table’. There happened to be an empty seat there. Kismet, she thought. Her mind circled back to the envelope hidden away between two yearbooks. She hesitated for a second, and then she went for it.

 

“When was the last time you talked to your dad?”

 

Rip paused eating his cupcake, obviously surprised by the abrupt change in subject. He looked at her for a second, a question in his eyes.

 

“Oh, I’m not entirely sure. Five, six years ago. Why?”

 

“Just wondering. Have you-- Did you want to invite him to the wedding?”

 

Rip ducked his head and shrugged. It was a gesture so unlike him that it threw her for a moment. It made him look impossibly young. Rip took a deep breath like he was gearing up for an argument but instead he sighed deeply and shook his head.

 

“Who is to say he would come anyway?”

 

For a second, Sara saw something in Rip she’d never seen before: there was longing and yet resignation. Then, she saw Rip’s walls come up, his expression shuttered and the moment was gone. Rip put it away as he was wont to do, but Sara couldn’t let go of it.

  


The next morning she was still thinking about Rip’s father, and after Rip had left for work she went to find the hidden envelope. She knew now, deep in her bones, that Rip wanted to see his father, that the part of him that was still Michael Hunter missed him. But she also knew how Rip feared the sting of rejection. He’d lost so much in life, it was easier for him to keep people at arm’s length. She knew Rip would never make the first move. And for all she knew, his father was out there somewhere waiting for Rip to reach out first.

 

So typical of men.

 

Sara looked at the paper with the address on one hand, and the wedding  invitation on the other hand. She rubbed the pads of her finger across the embossed text.

 

_Sara Elise Lance and Michael Richard Hunter_

_cordially invite you to celebrate their marriage._

 

All she saw were the absences. Sara and Rip were far from traditional and truthfully the whole wedding shebang was a bit much for her: the hair, the nails, the flowers, the white dress were all concessions of a sort, to her family, because she understood what it meant to them. It was part of a dream that showed she’d made it. There’d been a time in all their lives where it didn’t seem like she’d make it past 27.

 

Everybody had always assumed Laurel would be the first Lance to settle down, get married, have a family. And when Sara and Rip announced their intent to marry the entire Lance family had thrown themselves into the wedding planning. Sara supposed the fantasy reminded them of the little girl she used to be: glittery tiaras and pink princess dresses. Before the depression, before the addictions and the self destruction that had almost killed her.

 

But the wording on the invitation was a concession of another sort, if an unspoken one. Rip didn’t have parents to include on this invitation and that was ultimately the reason why Sara insisted Quentin and Dinah’s names not appear anywhere on it.

 

Sara had always been the reckless one. It was a role she embraced wholeheartedly. And this could blow up in her face spectacularly. And if it did, she’d deal with it.

 

Sara grabbed the felt pen before she could change her mind, and addressed the envelope to Michael J. Carter in Central City.

 

* * *

 

**ii.**

 

Rip’s hands made a slow yet deliberate trek up Sara’s body, from flank  to waist, and under her shirt to her chest. She moved in slow, maddening circles on his lap and sucked bruises on that spot on his neck that always made him melt under her. Her own hands were working at his belt when the doorbell buzzed, jolting them apart. They pulled away from each other and groaned in frustration.

 

They rested their foreheads together, sharing breath.

 

“That’s probably my sister, coming to attack us with even more samples. I’ll get rid of her.”

 

“Be quick,” he said, kissing her quickly before letting her climb out of his lap.

 

Between the wedding prep and Sara’s night shifts it seemed like it’d been weeks since they’d managed anything other than an adolescent grope, which made the interruption all the more frustrating. Rip threw his head back and closed his eyes, and listened to Sara at the door, smiling at her indignant tone.

 

“This better be good, because I was just about to get---you’re not Laurel.”

 

Rip’s ears perked up when he heard a man’s voice. Any vestiges of arousal that remained disappeared, as if he’d been doused with a bucket of cold water. He rushed to the doorway to confirm what he already knew. Standing in his entryway was the last person he’d ever expected to see. There, in the flesh, stood his father, sporting a pair of ridiculous yellow sunglasses and an infuriating smile.

 

“Ah, there he is. What’s up, junior?”

 

Rip’s father looked him up and down and lingered on Rip’s undone belt, prompting Rip to hastily buckle it. Sara crossed her arms over her chest. Not that it would do much to preserve her modesty, given that her long shirt was the only thing she was wearing at the moment.

 

“Oops, I think I might have interrupted something good. So sorry about that. I would’ve called first, but I thought I’d surprise you.”

 

Cold sweat broke across Rip’s brow, blood rushed in his ears.

 

“What are you doing here?” Rip managed after a few beats. He felt Sara stiffen at his side.

 

“What? No hello for your old man? I heard you’re getting married? Felicitations! I brought celebratory sushi.” He lifted a paper bag in the air before addressing Sara. “And you must be... Sara Elise,” he said, making a show of reading the name off the wedding invite in his hand.

 

“Just Sara.”

 

“Nice to meet you, just Sara. I’m Michael. Michael Carter.”

 

Rip watched his father and his fiancee shake hands and it felt like he was watching a movie of someone else’s life. Was this how people in prank shows felt like?

 

Sara turned around, and plastered a tight smile on her face.

 

“Did you hear that babe? He brought sushi.”

 

In that moment he understood that she knew more than she was letting on. She mouthed ‘later’ at him and then excused herself so she could make herself presentable. And in the blink of an eye Rip found himself alone with his father for the first time in six years.

 

Michael let himself into the house and looked around.

 

“Nice home.”

 

“Don’t be condescending.”

 

“I’m not. It looks lived in and happy. It reminds me of where I grew up.”

 

Rip knew what their house looked like to outsiders. In plain terms, a mess, although Sara liked to call it ‘museum chic’. Rip had a hoarding tendency that Sara put up with. Mismatched antiques, mostly clocks and other artifacts, were all over, stacked on shelves or hanging on the walls.

 

“Michael--”

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

“Oh, right, I forgot, you go by that name that sounds like one of those made up fifties era movie star names. Either that or that you eat a lot of beans.”

 

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the man with the GOLDSTAR vanity plate on his sports car.”

 

“I hope you boys played nice while I was gone.”

 

Rip had never felt so thankful to see Sara before. She instantly turned into a perfect hostess, leading his father to their dining table and getting all the plates from the kitchen. It was unnerving, as he was usually the one with the impeccable manners. It only served to augment the feeling of wrongness. It was as if she was trying to compensate for something.

  
“Do you have any shot glasses?” Michael asked, waving a bottle of sake.

 

“We don’t drink,” Rip said.

 

“Well, that’s no fun.”

 

“Unfortunately, neither is alcoholism,” Sara said, before Rip had a chance to say anything. “But you can drink if you want. I don’t mind.”

 

“No, no, I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

 

Michael’s face flushed red and the sight satisfied some vicious part of Rip. At least he wasn’t the only uncomfortable one. They sat down to eat and conversation immediately halted, no sound in the room but the clicking of chopsticks and Rip’s clocks ticking away.

 

It’s not that Rip didn’t have anything to say. On the contrary, he had so many questions.

 

“So, you work in Star Labs. Are you a scientist?” Sara asked, finally breaking the silence.

 

“God, no, no. I work in PR. I’m an idea man. I’m no good at the tinkering. Not like junior here. Speaking of, what are you up to? The last time we talked you were finishing up your PhD.”

 

“He’s in Applied Sciences at Queen Consolidated.”

 

The proud smile on Sara’s face was audible even in her voice.

 

“Queen? Why not Kord? They’re miles ahead of anything Queen is doing.”

 

“Yes well, I guess I didn’t quite make the cut.”

 

Trust his father to poke at wounds unawares. By god, but this was turning out to be a bigger disaster than anticipated.

 

“What? No. I’ll talk to Ted myself and that’ll be sorted.”

 

“You know Ted Kord?” Sara said.

 

“Yes, he does. But please, don’t bother Mr. Kord on my behalf. I’m quite pleased where I am.”

 

“He runs his own department,” Sara said.

 

“That’s great.”

 

Rip couldn’t hold back an incredulous huff.

 

“So… tell me about the wedding. You guys have your honeymoon settled yet?”

 

Michael looked straight at Rip when he spoke but Rip averted his gaze and let Sara answer for him.

 

“We’re going to Coast City for a few days.”

 

Rip’s father frowned comically and Rip braced himself for the inevitable.

 

“That won’t do. Pick a place, any place. I’ll take care of it.”

 

“My, how generous of you.”

 

Rip felt a sharp jab at his shin; Sara had kicked him under the table.

 

“Well, I’m not one to turn down free stuff normally, but we’re good on that, thank you,” she said.

 

“If you’re sure. I've gotta say, you were cutting it pretty close there with the invite. Is this like a last minute thing? Are you like...?” He made a motion like he was shooting a shotgun, which made Sara laugh.

 

That was the worst part. Rip knew his father and he knew Sara. They both had the same childlike sense of humor and the same zest for life. If the circumstances weren’t so fraught, he knew they’d be fast friends. And that stung.

 

“She's not pregnant. We've actually been planning this for a while.”

 

Rip’s words were pointed and he saw the moment they landed. Michael looked between Rip’s steely stare and Sara’s guilty one and the jovial mood quickly dissipated, as fast as it’d come.

 

“Oh, I see. In any case, I'm glad I got to come and see you and meet your beautiful fiancee.”

 

He'd lost the playful mood and from then on everyone dropped the pretense that this was a happy reunion dinner, and when the sushi was all gone Michael made his excuses and left, but not before he’d made them promise to call him if they needed anything, and he meant _anything_.

 

The silence that ensued was deafening, so charged with tension. Sara’s eyes were full of fire, as if she were bracing for a fight, and there were so many things he wanted to demand of her then, but he couldn’t stay there any longer. He knew that if he remained in the house he’d say things he wouldn’t be able to take back.

 

Rip only grabbed his coat from the hook next to the door and stormed out of the house with barely a glance back, and a half hearted mutter saying he'd be back late. The door slammed shut behind him with an air of finality that made the both of them flinch. Inside, Sara stared at the closed door for a long time, wondering if she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life.

 

***

 

Rip’s long coat flapped behind him as he stalked down the street and away from the home he shared with Sara. He had no idea where he was headed, other than away. He really wanted a drink or perhaps a cigarette, but he’d given up those vices when he’d chosen to love Sara. Indulging in drink and smoke would feel too much like a betrayal and he never wanted to do that, no matter how angry he felt.

 

And, bollocks, was he angry. He burned with the type of self-righteous indignation he thought he was past. He understood now what had happened. Sara had seen fit to invite his father into their lives without even asking if he wanted to.

 

The thing was, a part of him did want his father there at the wedding. The little boy inside him who still went by Michael craved his father’s validation. But every time they were in the same room together all Rip saw were the chasms between them.

 

He felt pulled apart. Just when he’d put the pieces of his life together, something always had to come in and pull them apart, forcing him to look at his insides just so he could figure out how to build himself up again.

 

He knew that Sara loved him and would never try to purposely hurt him. But how could he explain to her what he had trouble explaining to himself?

 

His father elicited visceral reactions from him that were not entirely rational, they just were. Michael would always be the perpetual open wound that would never fully heal. That was just the way it was.

 

Rip found himself 12 blocks from the house when his phone buzzed in his pocket. After a second of deliberation, he pulled it out.

 

It wasn’t Sara, like he’d expected, but Laurel.

 

> _From Laurel Lance (10:45 pm): Sara texted me. She’s freaking out. Can I tell her something for you?_
> 
> _To Laurel Lance (10:46 pm): Tell her I’m ok. Will be home within the hour._
> 
> _To Laurel Lance (10:46 pm): Thank you for taking care of her._
> 
> _From Laurel Lance (10:47 pm): Always._

 

He closed the text app and stared at the background on his phone. It was a photo of Sara making a silly face at the camera, while holding her chest, equal parts salacious and ridiculous. That was the woman he loved, for better or worse.

 

It was time to go back home.

***

 

Rip arrived back home sometime around 11:30. All the lights in the house were off but he found Sara was still awake, huddled on the couch with her stuffed shark. When Rip saw it his resolve wavered for a moment, as he knew Sara only brought it out during moments of real distress. But he and Sara had never been known for pussyfooting around each other and this thing burning inside him had to get out before it festered.

 

He stood in front of her and found her eyes in the dark. She was wary in a way he wasn’t accustomed to seeing her.

 

“Okay, Sara, what was my father doing here?”

 

“He was here because I sent him a wedding invitation.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you wouldn’t and I know that you want him there.”

 

“How could you possibly presume to know that?”

 

“Oh come on, who do you think you’re talking to? I know you better than anyone else.”

 

Sara had presumably grown tired of arguing in the dark and she reached over the couch to turn on a lamp and stood up, looking him straight in the face.

 

“Last week, when we were doing the seating arrangements I asked you about him, I asked if you wanted him there and you did that thing where you don’t say anything and try to pretend you don’t care but I know you Rip, and I know what that meant. It meant _yes_.”

 

“And then you had the spectacularly foolish idea of somehow tracking him down and inviting him in our lives without consulting me.”

 

“Annoying isn’t it? When someone makes unilateral decisions like that.”

 

The retort lodged in Rip’s throat. By god, she was infuriating sometimes. Part of him was pleased to see her defiance come back but a greater part was frustrated, caught in a corner he couldn’t escape, because she was right. _That_ was an argument he really couldn’t use against her. So he went for another familiar jab.

 

“Why do you always leap without looking?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Sara said.

 

Sara didn’t take the bait, though, and Rip felt the fight leave him. Contrary to what many people believed, he hated arguing with her.

 

“How did you locate him so fast?”

 

“Laurel helped. And apparently it wasn’t hard. I’ve had his info for months. I was planning on surprising you much earlier. I was going to go see him, actually, but I chickened out. And then when I asked you about him and I saw how you reacted I thought I’d try it, and if it didn’t work out then you’d never know and you wouldn’t have to be disappointed. But he came, Rip. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

 

“That’s not the point.”

 

“Then what is? You never talk about him so I don’t know what it’s actually like between you two. The way you act sometimes it’s like he’s a monster, but he seemed to be really happy when he thought you wanted him here and really hurt when you he realized you didn’t. Be honest with me for once. On a scale of college Oliver to Malcolm Merlyn, how much of an asshole is he?”

 

“What?”

 

“I just mean, has he done something that we’d consider unforgivable?”

 

“I guess not.”

 

Sara looked like she was waiting for him to elaborate but that was all he could give her at the moment.

 

“It’s complicated,” he eventually said.

 

“Right. Look, I’m sorry. The last thing I wanna do is upset you. But, if you ask me, I don’t think it’s ever too late for anyone to change. Everyone deserves second chances. I mean, look at me. Where I would be without them?”

 

Rip gathered Sara to him, marvelling as he always did, at how small she was. He buried his nose in the familiar scent of her hair.

 

“Perhaps you’re right. It’s been years since the last time I talked to him. I will give him a call in the morning and tell him he can come to the wedding if he wants.”

 

They pulled apart from their embrace and Sara grabbed Rip’s face between her hands.

 

“You never ask for anything because you think you don’t deserve to have the things you want. But you do. You’ve saved my life a dozen times over. I just wanted to give you your family back.”

 

He leaned his forehead against hers.

 

“I have a family. _You_ are my family. Don’t ever feel like that’s not enough.”

 

*******

 

Rip’s father had interpreted ‘you can come to wedding if you want’ as an open invitation to ingratiate himself into the planning with full force. He’d somehow weaseled it out of Rip that Laurel was planning the wedding and had called her up to offer his assistance, which in his case meant money, for whatever was needed. And so it came to be that the quiet rehearsal dinner Rip and Sara had originally planned had mutated into a full blown party complete with open bar and a karaoke station.

 

“Think of it as a bachelor/bachelorette party,” Michael had said. Rip had drawn the line at strippers much to Sara’s very vocal disappointment.

 

Oliver and Thea had been kind enough to lend them Verdant for the night and Laurel, Sara and Rip’s father had transformed the club for the festivities. Rip was thankful for Laurel’s involvement because he shuddered to think at the debauchery it would have turned into if Sara and his father had been left to their own devices. Just as he’d predicted, the two of them had quickly bonded in the last few days.

 

Other than the open bar there were waiters and more food than Rip had ever seen in his life and dessert table so opulent it hurt to look at. And there, tucked in the corner was a single tray of chocolate eclair cake squares that Rip had painstakingly made because they were Sara’s favorite treat.

 

The music pounded, way too loud for Rip’s comfort, but Sara at least was in her element, dancing with her girlfriends and her friends from Central City who were in town. He rather liked the symmetry though, that their courtship should end that same way it’d started: him hugging the wall, feeling out of place, and Sara making eyes at him from the dance floor, singing about how good girls went to heaven but bad girls went everywhere.

 

Sara left Thea dancing alone and swayed toward him, her eyes predatory and playful. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

 

“Say, what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this? This remind of you something?”

 

“I’m not sure, maybe of the best night of my life.”

 

“Really? And here I thought the best night of your life was that time in Keystone with the knives and the garters.”

 

“Oh, well, I was attempting to be sentimental, but if you want to be technical about it, the knives always win.”

 

“I thought so. Dance with me?”

 

It was more a demand than a request and he pulled her closer until their bodies were flush against one another, and then he swayed them back and forth, even if that wasn’t what the music called for.

 

They stayed that way for a few minutes until two things happened at once: a loud cheer erupted  from a corner of the club and Sara’s phone went off. Sara pulled her phone from the pocket of her jumpsuit and cackled after looking at the screen for a second.

 

“Your dad is snapchatting the party.”

 

Add that to the list of things Rip never wanted to hear in his lifetime ever again.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Oh yeah, your dad is like, Snapchat famous. He’s fucking hilarious. And he has the cutest dog. I think his name is Skeets? Also, we gotta talk about your ‘uncle’ Ted. I mean, he’s your uncle the same way Nyssa was my _roommate_ in college, if you get what I mean.”

 

“Give me that,” Rip said, ripping Sara’s phone out of her hands. “Oh, bollocks.”

 

Apparently Michael had challenged Mick Rory to a drinking competition, complete with flaming shots.

 

“What is he doing? Does he know how old he is?”

 

“I don’t know, I mean he’s still pretty--”

 

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

 

Sara mimed zipping her mouth shut and throwing the key away.

 

“Why is he even on this thing. Snapchat is for self-absorbed children who weren’t loved enough.”

 

“Hey!”

 

The music stopped abruptly and Michael’s voice came through the loudspeakers.

 

“Hey, hey what’s up Star City!”

 

“Oh god,” Rip groaned but Sara whooped at his side.

 

“Let’s give it up for Laurel Lance, sister of the bride for putting this all together. You’re an angel, babe. Your boyfriend better put a ring on it before someone snatches you away. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Michael, father to the groom and I just wanted to take a moment to thank all of you for coming tonight to celebrate Sara and Michael Jr. He hates it when I call him that, by the way. What a beautiful couple. A real testament of how true love can help overcome all hardships. Their love is an inspiration to us all. To Rip and Sara!”

 

“That was sweet,” Sara said.

 

“He just met us.”

 

Michael called her over from the dance floor and she gave Rip the puppy eyes.

 

“Go ahead.”

 

She kissed him quickly, but deeply.

 

“I love you, and the chocolate eclairs were delicious, thank you for making them for me.”

 

“You’re welcome. And I love you, too. Now go dance with my father.”

 

Sara skipped away and joined her sister on the dance floor. Michael was twirling them both around, much to their giggly delight. He should be there right now, dancing with his soon to be wife, smiling, and instead he couldn’t peel himself off the wall, couldn’t stop the gloom cloud from forming above his head and tainting everything.

 

“Something bothering you son?”

 

Rip flinched.

 

“Captain Lance, I didn't see you there.”

 

“You’re marrying my daughter in 2 days time. I think you can drop the titles.”

 

“I will do my best to remember that.”

 

“He’s quite the character, your old man,” Quentin pointed Michael out, who was now trying to coax Sara’s mother to join him on the karaoke machine.

 

“That’s certainly one way to put it.”

 

“I can’t help but notice you don’t look so happy to see him. Does that have anything to do with why we’ve never met him before?”

 

Rip drank from the cup of punch, and wished, not for the first time in the night, that he had something stronger.

 

“It’s complicated.”

 

“Isn’t it always? Look, I don’t know what the deal is between you two but all I know is he looks happy to be here, and that probably means something.”

 

Rip paused at Quentin’s comment, unwittingly echoing his daughter’s.

 

“My father is not a bad person. It’s unfortunate for both of us that he doesn’t know how to be a father. Perhaps I shouldn’t judge him for that, but I do. He was in prison when I was a child. We didn’t really meet until I came to America for university. By then he was a completely different person to the young lad my mother fell for. He was somebody. Now he just swoops in and offers to pay for my studies or a lavish honeymoon, or _this,_ and hopes that will be enough.”

 

“Kid, you ever consider that maybe he doesn’t know how else to relate to you? You say you were already grown by the time he met you. Maybe he thought you didn’t need a daddy and tried to give you what he could. It seems to me that he’s trying, you know. That’s more than I did for a long time. I was there for my girls, watched them grow up, and I still hurt them. I hurt ‘em bad. Where would we be if my girls hadn't given me a chance?”

 

Rip looked at Quentin and then he looked back into the dance floor to find his father. Maybe Captain Lance had a point.

 

“You’re a good man, Rip Hunter. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find my lady. I suggest you do the same.”

 

He was right. It was his and Sara’s night, and he didn’t want to waste another second of it being away from her.

***

It was a bright, sunny afternoon on the day of Rip and Sara’s wedding. Rip stood at the window of the second story room he’d been lent inside the Queen mansion. Outside, he saw Laurel, looking beautiful in a gold dress, trailing around with her volunteers, still putting the finishing touches on the wedding set up. They really owed her a lifetime of favours after this.

 

He missed Sara. He hadn’t really been with her since the party two nights before, after her sister had absconded with her at the end of the night under the pretense of following some archaic superstition.

 

Rip caught his reflection on the window, and fiddled with his bowtie, while practicing his vows in his head.

 

“Get out of your head, Hunter.” Gideon said from somewhere behind him. She was his best and oldest friend and naturally his best woman.

 

“I wasn’t.”

 

“Yes, you were. You’re going to be fine. You know those vows backwards. And if you forget them, I will be happy to take over for you. God knows I memorized them after all your frantic Skype calls.”

 

“What would I do without you?”

 

“Get up to no good, I imagine.”

 

A knock at the door interrupted them.

 

“Come in,” Gideon said.

 

Michael peeked his head in through the crack in the door, unsure if he was welcome or not.

 

“Mr. Carter, hello. Come on in. I was just about to excuse myself.”

 

“You don’t have to go,” Rip said. Half pleaded, really.

 

Gideon smiled at him indulgently and kissed his cheek.

 

“I’ll see you when it’s time. I’m going to go and keep Jonah company.”

 

Rip and Michael watched her go, and then they were alone. Rip wished he knew what his father wanted, but Rip had long since given up on trying to predict what his father would do. But he remembered his conversation with Captain Lance, and waited it out.

 

Michael was dressed impeccably, in a deep blue suit, perfectly tailored. It figured he’d show up in a garment more expensive than anything Rip himself could dream of affording. He had a way about him that made him seem ageless, all golden hair and golden skin. Rip envied him that.

 

“I just saw your bride, she looks beautiful.”

 

“I know. She was here earlier, proposing we have premarital sex one last time.”

 

Michael laughed, but not mocking.

 

“She sounds like a handful.”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

“You have a really good thing going here, don--”

 

“I’m not planning on mucking it up.”

 

“Right. Listen, there’s something I wanted to say. I know you haven’t been pleased about me hanging around this past week. But I appreciate you letting me come. Believe it or not, I do miss you. You’re my _son_.”

 

A knot began to form at the base of Rip’s throat. He swallowed around it.

 

“I can’t take the last 34 years back, no matter how much I want to. You know, my father wasn’t around either. He broke my ma’s heart. Then _I_ broke my ma’s heart. I didn’t do so well with your mother either. Or you.”

 

“You’re doing a really bad job of selling yourself right now.”

 

Michael laughed, self deprecating and for a moment Rip recognized his own face in his father’s.

 

“Don’t be like me. That’s what I’m trying to say. I spent so long trying to become a new person, someone that mattered. I wanted to be someone you could be proud of. I forgot all I needed to be was your dad. And if you’ll allow me, I’d like us to try better, from now on. I don’t want to miss anymore milestones in your life.”

 

Rip remembered a fight in the dark and Sara preaching about second chances.

 

“Okay,” he said.

 

“Okay,” Michel replied. “I, uh, brought you something.”

 

He pulled out a handkerchief from inside his suit. It was the palest of blues, and the finest silk. In the corner, the initials RH were embroidered in silver thread.

 

Rip smiled. He understood the gesture; his father’s acknowledgement of his preferred name, and all that it implied.

 

Michael carefully folded the handkerchief into a perfect presidential fold and tucked it into the pocket of Rip’s suit jacket.

 

“There’s something else, for you and Sara.” Michael handed Rip an envelope and Rip took it, suspicious.

 

“Wedding gift. I upgraded your honeymoon. Hear me out before you protest. I didn’t change your plans, I only upgraded them-- first class plane tickets, a nicer hotel room and a dinner reservation in the best restaurant in town. Sara’s sister helped so you have to be mad at her, too.”

 

“Sara and I don’t need any of this.”

 

“I know. Just- please take it.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“I know I didn’t know your mother for a long time, but I’m sure Mary would be very proud of the man you’ve become. I know I am, Michael. And maybe I don’t have the right to say that, but I thought I should anyway. Now, could I have the honor of walking my son down the aisle?”

 

Rip rolled his eyes but Michael was starting to learn it was an affectionate gesture.

 

“You may.”

 

***

Rip and Sara were married in front of all their friends and family. To no one's surprise, Rip cried himself through his vows. But he wasn't ashamed of that. He loved his wife and he was proud to state that before everyone. Laurel had in fact come through with her promise of letting Sara wear pants, and together they'd found the perfect ensemble: an elegant, high-waisted jumpsuit with a beaded collar and a long cape, in lieu of a veil.

 

Around them the party was in full swing, but for Rip and Sara it was as if time had stopped just for them. They danced on the lawn of the Queen Estate as the sun sank behind them. Rip looked into the eyes of the woman he loved. She was his family, his heart, his joy. For a long time he thought she was all he needed. He was content to stay in their little bubble where the outside world couldn't touch them. But the truth was that she had been expanding his horizons from the day he met her. The simple fact that he stood? He owed that to her.

 

“Have I told you today how much I love you?"

 

"Maybe a dozen times, but I can always stand to hear it again."

 

"I love you."

 

They kissed, deeply and intimately.

 

"Thank you," he said.

 

"For what?"

 

"For giving me a family."

 

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all liked reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. You can come find me on tumblr, if you want @ [starcitysirens](http://starcitysirens.tumblr.com/). If you liked this, I'm currently working on a much longer time canary fic which I hope to post sometime before the new season starts. You can read a tiny preview [here](http://starcitysirens.tumblr.com/post/160431249815/preview-of-the-thing-im-writing-there-is-a-photo/).


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